Quite Valuable
by AnActualGorn
Summary: Set before and during The Wrath of Khan Bones and Spock stopped competing over who would give Kirk the best birthday gift a long time ago, but that doesn't change the fact that Bones' gift is going to be WAY better than Spock's...until Bones sees what Spock is getting him, then he decides to add a second gift to make sure he can outdo his Vulcan friend.


Quite Valuable

1

Leonard McCoy inspected the glass bottle of the sky blue liquid.

"2283? Is that a good year?"

His friend, Marko Sokolov, shrugged. "Who knows?"

"Well the next time you meet your Romulan friend—"

"Business associate," Sokolov corrected, with a wry lift of his eyebrows.

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Well, the next time to see them, ask for a case of the good stuff just in case they've been slipping you subpar vintages or whatever the hell they call them on Romulus."

"Do you know what they make Romulan ale out of?" Sokolov asked.

"No."

"Neither do I," the freighter captain said with a sigh. "I've always wondered."

"Wondering takes too much energy," McCoy said, placing the bottle back in the case. "I'm fine with knowing that, second only to Tennessee whisky, this stuff soothes the soul like none other."

"You gonna drink all that?" The captain said, elbowing McCoy in the shoulder.

"For your information," McCoy deadpanned. "I only use this for medicinal purposes."

"Sure."

"Except for this one bottle here. That's a birthday gift for a friend." McCoy replaced the case's lid and hefted it in his arms.

"You must really like this friend."

"He's alright," McCoy said, nodding a goodbye and making a stealthy exit through the restaurant where they usually made their exchanges. He always felt like some damn fool criminal skulking about with his case of illegal contraband. But the way he saw it, there wasn't any Romulan ideology dissolved in the blue liquid. Drinking it wasn't going to make him declare himself a centurion and start flying around in some ship with a giant bird painted on it. Besides, this was a birthday gift. It was selfless. And even when it wasn't, this was his payback for Starfleet drafting him out of retirement. If they could end his blissful relaxation far away from Starship battles and planets filled with exploding rocks and salt-sucking creatures, then he should be allowed to imbibe some illegal beverages on occasion.

Besides, he knew Spock would never be able to top his gift this year.

He and the Vulcan had stopped competing (officially) when Jim's birthday approached, but there was still a healthy rivalry that surrounded their gift giving and McCoy liked it that way. Spock was always so confident that he knew the admiral better than McCoy, but last year, Jim had _clearly_ liked McCoy's gift of a set of antique rifles more than Spock's stuffy framed parchment of some poem that Jim clearly just pretended to like for his benefit.

This year, McCoy was going to win again, even if Spock insisted otherwise. McCoy hadn't been able to get his hands on a case of Romulan Ale for the past three years. His gift was _rare_ and enjoyable. Plus, Jim probably didn't want another relic for his collection. Alcohol solved all problems, and Jim had seemed a little down lately.

Nothing overt. Nothing medically suspicious. It was more in how the admiral carried himself, paused before speaking, and tended to avoid conversations with friends. He'd seen him blow off Scotty at a retirement party for some Starfleet big shot last week, which wasn't like him at all. Scotty was one of the few people who could make those stuffy brass-plated parties tolerable, especially after he'd had a bit to drink.

McCoy couldn't put a finger on what was bothering Jim, but he reminded himself to ask Spock about it when he saw him later.

2

"Are there any adults around here?" McCoy asked the sea of cadet trainees. The question was meant to be rhetorical, but of course one of the eager youngsters couldn't pass up a chance to impress an officer, even if he was out of uniform at present.

"Captain Spock is down that way, sir," the young woman said. "Third door on your left."

"How'd you know I was looking for Spock?" McCoy asked, his brows furrowing.

The trainee flashed him a creepily perfect smile. "He's the only adult in this area right now."

"Ha ha. You're funny. I'll let him know you need to be on his next training cruise for your sense of humor alone, cadet…?"

"Morris, sir."

"Morris, yeah. Thanks."

He found Spock packing up his things as the last of the cadets filed out of the classroom.

"Heya Spock!"

"Doctor," the Vulcan said in his usual businesslike tone. "How may I help you?"

"Nice to see you, too."

"I have a meeting in twenty one minutes regarding the upcoming inspection of the Enterprise, Doctor. Time is short."

"Well then I'll cut to the chase. Have you found a gift for Jim yet?"

"In honor of his birthday? Yes, I believe I have."

"And…?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "And I believe it will be a most fitting gift."

"C'mon Spock, you can tell me what it is."

"Would it not, as humans say, spoil the surprise?"

McCoy threw up his hands. "I'm not the one having a birthday, Spock. You can tell me."

"Very well, though I must ask that you not tell Jim until I have given it to him."

"And here I was planning on rushing right up to his office and spilling the beans."

"The beans?"

"Forget it. What'd you get him?"

Spock reached into his bag and drew out a handsome but obviously very old volume of some sort. He held it up but made it very clear that McCoy could not handle it. "I was able to obtain this first edition. The author is very highly regarded on your world, is he not?"

McCoy squinted at the cover which Spock held just a little too far away for him to make out in the dim light of the conference room. " _A Tale of Two Cities_?"

"I have heard the Admiral remark on his fondness for the greats of your literary canon. Charles Dickens no doubt fits into that category."

"I'd say so," McCoy said, wondering if illegal booze could beat out rare literary treasures on the birthday gift appreciation spectrum, if such a thing existed. "I think he'll like it just fine."

"And may I also inquire as to your gift?"

"A bottle of alcohol to soothe his spirit," McCoy said with a bright smile.

Spock sighed. "Really, Doctor McCoy…"

"I'm serious. And I know he'll love it. More than that stuffy book, anyways. It's very _rare._ "

"My gift will endure. Yours will be consumed."

"I bet he'll still like my gift more."

Spock merely shook his head, gathered up his files, and led McCoy out of the room, saying, "You will be at lieutenant Saavik's Kobiyashi Maru test tomorrow, will you not?"

"Do they really need a doctor for that?"

"She has requested the Enterprise crew and everyone is available. It would mean a great deal if you participated, Doctor."

"Oh, it wouldn't mean anything, you green-blooded robot. You're just saying that."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

McCoy sighed. "Yes, I'll be there."

3

On his way home from the Academy, McCoy stopped off at Jim's favorite antique shop, suddenly doubting whether his gift would be good enough. Admittedly, it was a pretty good gift, but he wanted to be absolutely sure.

The woman behind the counter had her hair in an elaborate style that drew focus from everything else around her. _Is that a birdcage wrapped up in there?_ He looked closer. The bird inside wasn't real, thankfully, but the overall effect was a bit grandiose for this part of San Francisco. He had to consciously meet her eyes.

"I haven't seen you here before."

The woman smiled. "I just started, Doctor McCoy."

He blinked. "How—"

"I'm a Betazoid." She tapped her right temple thoughtfully.

"A what?"

She raised her eyebrows. "We've been members of the Federation for, what twelve years now?"

"I try to stay out of politics. Gives me indigestion."

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "We're a telepathic species from the planet Betazed. Peace-loving, open, and creators of fine art and literature. Too much politics for you?"

"Just the right amount, thanks. Telepathic, eh? Don't meet many like you."

"We are unique."

"I'll say. Hey, I'm looking for a gift for a friend of mine. Could you help me out?"

She dropped her arms and gave an amused laugh. "That speech always works on my other customers. What are you looking for?"

"Well, that's the thing. I don't know. You wouldn't be able to dig into my subconscious and find out what I secretly want to find, would you?"

"I'll pass."

"You're probably better off. I'm getting old. You'll probably just find a lot of nonsense and cobwebs in there."

She smiled at that, but let him peruse the shop in silence.

There were lots of things Jim would like, relics of combat from years past, a few rare books, a sculpture that looked Andorian, and a number of fascinating medical instruments that McCoy had to stop and look through.

That's when he saw them.

The instrument in question sat on a small glass plate, its lenses catching the afternoon light shining through the door. He thought of Spock's book and remembered squinting to read the title in the dim light. His diagnostician's brain suddenly played a number of scenes in his head in rapid fire:

Jim holding a PADD away from his face as he read a communiqe.

Jim squinting as he examined the delicate patterns that striated the blooms on a red flower in Sulu's front room the last time they'd been over to see him.

Jim's list of allergies in his medical records, which included Retinax V.

If these were what he thought they were, he was in luck. "Hey, what can you tell me about these?"

The Betazoid woman glided over to the case and opened it, drawing the object out. "They were worn by humans to correct vision deficiencies in Earth's past. This pair is over four hundred years old. From your eighteenth century."

McCoy took the proffered item from her and held it up. "I know a little about eyeglasses, but not much. You wouldn't happen to know the prescription, would you?"

"I don't, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "No problem. I can figure it out. They're probably not very strong. My friend probably just needs them to read with." He held them up to his own eyes and blinked a few times, the room blurring slightly. Then he looked at his hand and the wrinkles on his palm came into exaggerated focus, magnified several times.

"These are great. I'll take them."

4

McCoy left Kirk's apartment wondering what had just happened. The Romulan Ale had gone over well, but the antique eyeglasses ended up bringing the mood of the evening crashing down into a bleak and depressing basement level McCoy had not expected.

He could see exactly what it was. He tried to help, but this wasn't something that talking or even medicine could help just yet. In every display case throughout the admiral's apartment, he could see reflected in it the reminder that the past was done and gone, and he knew that Jim saw his time as captain of the Enterprise in that glass, back before Starfleet had changed everything and handed it over to Decker. The original ship. His ship.

He cursed choosing a functional gift, even if Jim needed it to read. This wasn't the time for useful gifts. Spock understood that. He noted darkly that Jim would probably use his gift when he was reading Spock's gift, but he'd probably never get a thank you better than the forced one he'd gotten when McCoy prompted him.

But he couldn't begrudge his friend a bit of ill humor. He understood it. Hell, every time McCoy looked in the mirror, he saw an old man who, by all rights, should be relaxing in some island locale, without a care in the world, and yet here he was pretending to die on training bridges so young Academy graduates can have their hopes and dreams crushed when they failed that damned impossible test.

All of them, the whole crew. They had done their part. Now they needed to relax. All of them, except Kirk—and maybe energetic Chekov, he thought with a smile. Jim Kirk needed a ship. He needed to explore, to fly into some crazy nebula and find a lost planet, or save some scantily clad princess from an explosive civil war. That was what he was good at. That was what gave him life. He'd gotten a command before. He could do it again.

And he didn't need glasses to do all that.

But still, when he was in his quarters, in between missions, he'd thank McCoy every time he had to pull on those lenses to read.

 _Chekmate, Spock_ , McCoy thought. _I win._

Epilogue

McCoy looked out the viewscreen of the Enterprise at the planet before them. The Genesis Planet Carol Marcus called it. A few hours previously, it had been a nebula and very nearly their graves if it hadn't been for…

McCoy sighed, trying not to think about Spock, which was hard because it seemed that's all his brain wanted to think about. Thoughts, memories, images, it's like he was desperately trying to recall everything he ever knew about Spock. At times, he even heard Spock's voice bouncing around in his head, speaking with such clarity that he half expected the Vulcan to be standing right next to him.

"He's really not dead," McCoy said, smiling in the glow of happy memories. "As long as we remember him."

Nobody said anything for a moment until Jim broke the silence. "'It's a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before. A far better resting place that I go to than I have ever known'" His voice sounded sad, but there was something bright beneath it that McCoy hadn't heard in a while.

"Is that a poem?" Marcus asked.

"No, no. Something Spock was trying to tell me. On my birthday."

 _The book_ , McCoy thought with a smile. _Spock's book._ _He'd passed it off like some antique, but it wasn't really. It wasn't the book. You cunning pointy-eared goblin, you, hiding your emotional outpourings in the pages of an antique novel._

"You OK, Jim?" McCoy asked, unsure of what else to ask. _When in doubt, go for the medical basics._ "How do you feel?"

"Young," Kirk said, the smile evident in his voice. "I feel young."

 _Alright, Spock,_ McCoy thought to the Vulcan's voice in his head. _I take back my checkmate. You win. And dammit if I can't ever beat you at this idiotic game again._

 _But_ , he added, unsure why he was finding it so hard to reconcile Spock's absence with the immediate, almost tangible _presence_ he now felt, _next year's gift is going to be even better than that book of yours._

 _You'll see._

End


End file.
